4
Grafvitnir Holmlundsson sighed, extinguished his meerschaum pipe, and looked out across Tharkad City. From this balcony on the upper floors of the Government House he could see across the Triad and the harsh, twinkling lights of the Lyran Commonwealth's Capital, all the way to the distant bulk of Mount Wotan to the west and the icy coastline to the east. The frozen landscape - if nothing else about this place - set his mind at ease for a minute, reminding him of his cold, stormy homeworld of Vekfaren. Were it not for the circumstances of his visit, he would gladly walk along the coast of this world take in its unique beauty under the shifting, shimmering auroras, but for now he had deeply unpleasant business to attend to.
He was here at the request of his superiors in the KungsArme to attend a "Summit in the Spirit of Inner Sphere Cooperation" as it was officially known, though it was more accurately an opportunity for the Lyrans and Fed Suns to flaunt their new "Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth" lest any other powers forget who the toughest kid on the playground was. He found himself feeling useless. No matter whether on his father's farm south of Rundvik and learning to pilot the old Dragon BattleMech he would inherit or at Northwind Academy, or during his first tour with the KungsArme, Graaf had always something to do; a goal to work towards, a skill to master, or simply a fence to be built, but now his purpose was simply... to be present. He found it intolerable.
He was part of a loose delegation from the Free Rasalhague Republic, mostly composed of beaurecrats, mercantilists and minor politicians mainly concerned with maintaining the young nation's precarious neutrality as a buffer state between the Commonwealth and the Draconis Combine, Rasalhague's mutual former masters. Graaf reflected that perhaps he was chosen to be a military delegate to the summit in hopes that his junior rank of Lojtnant and relatively short service record would impress Rasalhague's disinterest in the display of power, while his father's reputation earned with his mercenary unit, 'Holmlundsson's Cavaliers', during the fourth succession war and the Ronin war would prevent his membership from being publicly objectionable.
Unbuttoning his overcoat to reveal the grey, white, and scarlet dress uniform beneath it, he pushed through the glass doors and back into the crowded summit floor. The Hall was a riot of colorful national dress and military uniforms, alternating with the stark and somber suits of self-important politicians and bureaucrats, all mingling, making plans and lying through their teeth. As Graaf eyed the crowd he picked out a few individuals of a different bearing. Of course no mercenary unit in the inner sphere would dream of missing an employment fair like this, so it was hardly a surprise to see that so many had managed to get ahold of invitations.
Although he would much rather be in the guest's ceremonial 'Mech stable calibrating the capacitor discharge on his new Gauss Rifle, his prolonged disappearance from the event would be an embarrassment to his delegation, so it was his duty to stay and make the most of it. If there was any enjoyable conversation to be had in this place, it would be with his peers, the lower-ranking military and mercenary attendees, the Mechwarriors. He began to make his way across the room toward the mingling guests.
Edited by Grafvitnir, 02 August 2012 - 05:51 PM.
